The Strongest of Us
by Arhuaine
Summary: Of Maedhros after the Nirnaeth, from Maglor's viewpoint. Rated for angst and implied slash.


Of the host of ten thousand that had ridden with Maedhros to the Nirnaeth, barely a hundred of us were left alive when finally we reached the relative safety of Dolmed in the company of the Naugrim. Maedhros was wounded, as was I, but while my injury was light and swift to heal, my brother seemed to linger on the brink of death, as pale and weak as he had been after his return from Thangorodrim. I sat with him and each day he would ask me if there was any news of Fingon, and each day I would answer none. Day by day the spear-wound in his side healed and yet though growing stronger in body, his spirit remained diminished.  
  
"He is dead, Macalaurë, he said to me quietly one day, his grey-blue eyes dimmed with tears.  
  
I put my hand on his. "No, Maitimo," I said. "We would have heard by now, if that was so."  
  
He shook his head, his red hair a curtain around his ghost-white face. "He is dead," he repeated. "I felt it, the day we fled Eithel Sirion. I felt him fall."  
  
My heart ached for him, because nothing I could say would lift his spirit.  
  
"My head hurts, Macalaurë," he said to me. "It hurts, and will not stop."  
  
It was in the autumn that Celegorm and Curufin came to Dolmed, and Maedhros received them graciously even though his heart was heavy. That first evening we dined together but in uncomfortable silence. Maedhros ate nothing but only sat watching his brothers' faces for any sign of the tidings they may bring.  
  
At last I could bear the tension no more and I asked the question that I knew was forefront in Maedhros' mind. "What news is there of Hithlum?"  
  
Celegorm and Curufin exchanged glances and Curufin looked away to stare into the flickering candle-flame. "Hithlum is over-run, Morgoth holds it now," Celegorm replied.  
  
Maedhros made a sudden choking noise and pushed back his chair. "Findekano...?"  
  
"Findekáno fell on the fifth day," Celegorm continued. "Slain by Gothmog."  
  
Such a scream of despair and loss I never heard, before or since; a dreadful sound that could surely have been heard from the gates of Angband itself. Maedhros fell to his knees and wept.  
  
Celegorm and Curufin left the following day, headed to meet with our other brothers in Ossiriand. I urged Maedhros that we should ride with them but he would not be moved.  
  
"I cannot live without him," he said through his tears. "My heart is broken in two and cannot be repaired."  
  
He fell to sobbing and I put my arms around him. "You must live," I said. "You are head of the House of Fëanor. Your brothers need you." I held him close while he wept on my shoulder. "I need you, Maitimo."  
  
"I wish we had never come here," he said. "I wish that Atar had never made those cursed Silmarils, then we would still be in Valinor and Findekáno would still live."  
  
"We cannot wish ourselves back into the past," I reminded him. "We can only go onward, and live with the hand that Fate deals us." I lifted his chin with my finger, made him look at me. "You are the eldest and strongest of us, Maitimo."  
  
He shook his head and rubbed at his cheeks with the back of his hand. "We are lost. We are defeated."  
  
"No!" I put my hands on his shoulders and shook him. My heart was breaking to see him so in despair and I so helpless to shake him free of it. "Maitimo, brother," I said, "I know that you loved him, and he loved you in return."  
  
He fell still and looked at me. "We fought, the last time I saw him," he said quietly. "I do not even remember why." He chewed at a strand of his copper hair. "I told him that I hated him, because he was leaving me again."  
  
"Oh, Maitimo!" I pulled him into an embrace again and wiped at his tears with my sleeve as though he were an elfling. "He knew that you loved him, of that I am certain."  
  
"He was my beloved. My bonded. My soul-mate." Maedhros said quietly, shaking.  
  
A sharp pain knotted my stomach. In truth I knew, I had always known, even before we left Valinor. But that moment was the first time he had openly admitted it to me. "I know, Maitimo," I replied. "I always knew."  
  
Maedhros blinked. "You did?"  
  
"Of course. We all did." I smiled at him fondly, he hung his head and I reached for his hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Come, now, Maitimo. You are the strongest of us. You are the head of the House of Fëanor, and your brothers await you in Ossiriand."  
  
He lifted his head and nodded at me, and managed a weak half-smile. "Aye."  
  
And so we rode together to Ossiriand, and our brothers rejoiced to see him alive and strong. But ever after, he was diminished by his loss and never could anyone coax laughter from his lips even until the end of his life. 


End file.
